Willie and Bertie
by Canadian Hogan's Fan
Summary: General Burkhalter explains why exactly Klink is still in charge of Stalag 13. Set during Cupid comes to Stalag 13.


AN: I claim ownership to all OCs.

"Sit down, Klink, you're making me nervous. And stop talking! That makes me nervous too."

I struggled to keep my face impassive as Klink raised a finger to his lips. It always taxed my resources to deal with him without laughing at him. He reminded me of the fish my father used to catch in the river by our house. They'd flop about on shore as frantic as housewives until he knocked them senseless.

Many people have asked me through the years why I haven't given that incompetent cluck Klink what he deserved; a discharge or transfer to the Russian Front. Believe me, I would do it in a heartbeat if it weren't for my mother. She'd never let me hear the end of it at every family dinner from now until she dies.

Perhaps I should explain. My father, Gunther Burkhalter, died when my sister Gertrude and I were young. To say we were devastated would be an understatement. Mother locked herself in her room and wouldn't come out for a week. It was all Gertrude could do not to join her. I envied them; I couldn't afford the luxury of tears. I was now the man of the house and had to ready myself for the task of taking over my father's duties.

Having accepted that, I announced to my mother one summer evening I would not return to boarding school in Berlin, but stay home to help her manage the household.

Mother frowned when I broke the news. "You most certainly will not stay here! Education is very important, Bertie. Don't ever forget it."

I sat up, readying myself for the argument. "Mother, please, I'm a man now, and I will not leave you when you need me to look after you."

She laughed, though the noise sounded more like a pig's snort. "Don't be ridiculous. You're only nine. You're going to school like your father and I planned."

I protested, but quickly realized I was wasting my time. There was no arguing with her once she made up her mind.

So, a few weeks later, Mother, Gertrude and I went to the train station in Anrath as we'd planned. I took a deep breath, inhaling the mix of grease, grimy metal and steam, and savoured the whistles of trains departing and arriving. To this day, whenever I travel by train, I still feel the same tingle of anticipation and excitement I did then.

I'd finished waving goodbye to Gertrude as she boarded the train for Frankfurt, where she went to school, when I met the man who changed my life's course forever.

"Excuse me, could you tell me where the train to Berlin is?"

I turned, bumping straight into the knees of the tallest man I'd ever seen. He was lean, unlike my father, and had muscles the size of apples. I gasped when he removed his hat to wipe his brow. His hair looked like it had been dipped in sunlight, it was so bright.

"Uh," I stammered.

"C'mon Bertie," Mother said, grabbing my shoulders. "You're going to miss the train."

The stranger turned to her. "Pardon me, ma'am but where is the train to Berlin?"

My mother's mouth hung open the way mine must have when I saw him.

I pointed to a train a few feet away from us. "It's over there, sir."

He smiled, his teeth shining like newborn pearls. "Wunderbarr." He looked behind him. "Come, Willie. It's time to go."

A small, thin boy peaked around the man's legs. He stared at me the way a wild animal would a hunter.

"I said come along Willie! You're going to miss the train."

The boy's lower lip trembled. "But I hate trains!"

His father lowered his voice. "You'll like them fine because I said so."

"Father, I don't want to go. Why can't I stay with you?"

The older man sighed and knelt beside him. "Come now, we've talked about this many times. You are a descendent of the Heidelberg aristocracy whose men always served in the military, right?" The boy nodded. "You want to be like us, don't you?" Another nod. "Well, how can you be if you don't go to school in Berlin? Why, everyone we know will brand you a coward if you don't go. They'll laugh and say, 'Look, here comes Willie Klink, the chicken.'"

The boy stared at his father, his eyes filled with misery. For a moment, I felt sorry for him. "Alright, I'll go," he said, starting for the nearest coach.

"Halt!" the man called. "Do I look like a porter? Come back and get your suitcase!"

The boy scuttled back for the case, which looked much too large for him to carry alone. He grunted as he tried to raise it to his chest. "Father, it's too heavy."

"Lift it!" the man commanded.

The boy tried to a few more times before resorting to dragging the case across the platform.

"Willie!" the man said in a threatening tone.

The boy stopped, and, summoning all the strength in his little body, lifted it a few millimeters off the ground. A kindly porter, who reminded me of the St. Nikolaus who visited the Catholic families on our street, saw him take a few wobbly steps before he took the suitcase and helped him aboard.

"Get on the train, Bertie!" my mother piped up, pushing me away. "Or do I have to hold your hand the whole way too?"

I scowled. "Mother, please, I'm not an infant! I'm going."

She ignored me, her eyes glued to the stranger. "That's a good boy," she murmured. "Mama's proud of you."

I shook my head and was about to ask her what had fallen out of the sky and smacked her head when she brushed the man's arm with her purse.

"Oh dear me," she said, her voice rising. "I'm terribly sorry. I ought to pay more attention to what I'm doing. It's just that my son Bertie requires so much attention."

He bowed. "No need to apologize. It was entirely my fault. I was busy watching my son too."

Mother blushed. "Boys certainly are a handful aren't they? How old is yours?"

"He'll be 10 in a few days."

"What a coincidence! Mine will be 10 in a few months."

I rolled my eyes as I walked away. _Great. That boy's probably going to be in all my classes. _

She sighed. "It's been so difficult since my husband's passing. I know so little about what to do with boys as they grow up."

"There's really no trick to raising them, Frau…."

Her cheeks brightened. "Call me Hildie."

He bowed again. "Very well Hildie. The most important thing to remember is to be firm and employ discipline at all times. If there's anything a boy understands well, it's discipline." He looked away. "I've had to work very hard to make my Willie what he is today. Sometimes I wonder if it's been enough. Every time I look at him, I can't help wonder how I failed him."

"He seems like a fine boy to me," Mother said, looking away in a manner that reminded me of Gertrude when she was courting her latest sweetheart. "Forgive me if I seem too forward, but would you like to get some breakfast and talk more about parenting?"

He studied her, as if noticing her for the first time, then offered his arm. "I'd be honoured Hildie."

I couldn't watch them anymore, as a porter hustled me aboard. By the time I found my seat and looked out the window, the train was pulling out and my mother had left with the man without so much as waving goodbye.

I turned away, fighting a sudden hollow feeling in my chest. _Mother, how could you?_

"Guten Morgen. My name's Wilhelm. Wilhelm Klink."

I looked up and scowled as the boy whose father had run off with my mother took the seat across from mine. "Good for you. I'm busy."

Klink's smile faltered for a moment before returning with a fit of nervous giggles. "You're very funny. You must be very popular. Maybe you could introduce me to everyone in our class."

I narrowed my eyes. "Maybe you could be quiet so I can enjoy the rest of the journey in peace."

Klink babbled on, despite my attempts to shut him up. So began a frustrating and unwanted friendship. Despite my annoyance, I realized it must've been one of the worst years of his life. My classmates and I treated him no better than a stray mutt that used to wander past the school, who kept begging for affection no matter how many times we threw rocks at it or beat it with sticks.

My pity, however, dried up when I came home for Christmas holidays. My mother went out of her way to avoid my sister and I, claiming she had to attend boring Christmas concerts or cocktail parties for grown ups only. I had to banish an image of Klink's father snuggling with her from my mind, every time she did it.

Thankfully, I didn't have to do it much longer. By the start of the next school year, Klink had gone with his family to start a grocery store in Dusseldorf. My mother wept as much as the day my father died when we learned the news. It sickened me that my suspicions about the elder Klink being more than a passing acquaintance to her had been confirmed, but I was more relieved the whole Klink family was finally out of our lives.

I learned just how wrong I was during my 18th year. Gertrude and I were reading in the parlor when Mother entered the room, her skin pale and a newspaper rattling in her hand. She whispered something before collapsing on the floor. I bolted up and carried her to bed while Gertrude called the doctor.

"When is he coming?" I asked as I joined her at the bottom of the staircase.

She held out the paper to me, pointing to a picture. "Do you recognize this man?"

My heart sank when I looked. It was Klink's father, or Otto Klink, as the paper identified him. Apparently a drunk driver had killed him while he was crossing the street to buy some beer. "No," I said, tossing the paper aside.

Gertrude shook her head. "I don't understand it. Why would she get so upset about a man she doesn't know?"

I shrugged. "Who knows what goes through a muddled woman's mind."

Gertrude tapped her foot. "Bertie! This is no time to be funny. Mother's sick."

I laughed. "What do you know? She's probably just eaten bad sausage."

The doctor, however, sided with my sister. He declared Mother gravely ill.

"She won't last the night," he declared.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. Part of me wanted to cry while the other part secretly rejoiced. I hadn't quite forgiven her for that day at the train station. Still, I tried to hide my conflict from her when she called me to her side.

"Hello Mother," I said softly, trying not to look at her frail figure.

"Bertie," she gasped. "Sit down beside me. There's so much I want to tell you."

She told me everything. Every sordid detail, from how lonely her widowhood had been to the elder Klink's claims of being trapped in a loveless marriage. Then, when I was ready to take a pillow to stifle her, she took my hand. "Promise me, that whatever happens, you'll look out for Willie Klink."

I tried to stand up. "Mother…."

"Otto loved him, despite his faults."

I crushed the urge to hit her as she spoke that adulterer's name. "You expect to me move mountains for the son of this man?" I sputtered. "How can I?"

"You're very smart Bertie. You'll find a way."

I shook my head. "How can you ask me to do that? He's not your son. I am."

She squeezed my fingers in hers. "Your father didn't want me to be unhappy when he died and I wasn't when I was with Otto. Can't you respect your father's wishes, and mine, now that I'm in my final hours?"

I turned away, noticing for the first time how foul the smell of lingering death is, and cursed how perfectly she'd manipulated me. If I refused, I would surely be damned for the rest of my life. If I accepted, I'd never be able to live with myself knowing I'd been party to my mother's affair.

Promise her you'll do what she wants, I thought. She'll never know the difference once she's dead.

I kneeled by her bed and bowed my head. "Very well, Mother. I promise."

She blew me a kiss. "Thank you Bertie. I'll never forget how happy you've made me."

I would've gotten away with it too, if the doctor hadn't made a mistake. What he thought was a fatal attack turned out to be food poisoning, which she easily recovered from. Despite her delirium, she never forgot I gave her my word, and never let me forget it either.

So, as I've served in the military and found my way into my commanders' favour, I've used my connections to watch Klink's progress, and make sure he did as well as I did, for fear of my mother's nagging driving me to an early grave. I got him out of trouble whenever he fouled up, which he did often, and promoted whenever he happened to do something right.

Once he was no longer able to fly, I secured him a position somewhere where he'd do the least amount of damage, a POW camp. Mother, now in her 80s, but still as cantankerous as ever, wasn't happy with the arrangement, but I told her it was the best I could do.

"That's not good enough," she replied. "We must think of another way to help Willie."

I assured her I would try and forgot all about it as soon as I hung up. Mama, again, did not forget. She called me yesterday to tell me her latest idea.

"Bertie," she said, her rich voice now reduced to a whisper from all the cigarettes that lived and died between her lips. "As you know, Gertrude's husband is missing."

I gulped. _Oh no._

"I was talking to her yesterday and she said she's awfully lonely. I was thinking…."

"Mother," I said, feeling a headache coming on. "Please don't suggest…."

"You could arranger her to meet Wilhelm. If he's anything like his father, I'm sure he'll sweep her off her feet."

I groaned. "Mother!"

"Now, Bertie," she said, her tone sharp. "You promised me!"

"Alright, alright!" I snapped. "I'll make the arrangements."

So, as I sat, watching the genuflecting bumbler my mother loved more than her own flesh and blood, I indulged in a small grin. If there's anything my sister's learned from our mother, it's how to manipulate a man. My guess is she'll eat him alive.


End file.
